Found
by Rianne
Summary: Sara finds something unexpected at a crime scene.


**Disclaimer:** I love, love, love CSI.

**Author Notes:** This is for my Godson Charlie, who won't ever read this, especially as its still a few years before he will learn to read, but he inspired it, so credit he gets.

It is a little different, but I had fun creating this one! And I'm almost done with new chapters for Holding Patterns and Believe It! (Week off work!)

**Found.**

_By Rianne_

It was the eyes she saw first.

They were huge.

Panicky.

Glinting like diamonds in the darkness.

Peering at her apprehensively from just above the rim of a stained and torn cardboard box.

The vision was so unexpected in the darkness it scared her near half to death, surprise causing her to take a step backwards, stumbling over the tangle underfoot.

Once sure of her feet once again, she swung her flashlight back over the area, but the eyes had ducked away.

Lost in a sea of destruction and dirt.

She was surrounded by enough piled up filth to make her skin crawl.

There had to be things living in this hovel, she had expected that, but not this.

Those eyes didn't belong to a something, they belonged to a someone.

A very small someone.

Keeping her movements slow, and her flashlight beam just above where she had seen those eyes she carefully picked a pathway through the detritus.

Eyes peeled, ears on alert.

A faint whimper of uncontrollable, pure fear drifted up from the box.

Tremulous and tugging on her heart strings which were already taunt with the pounding in her breast.

Whoever was in that box, it wasn't going to be good, she knew that going in.

Nothing good came from a place like this.

Deep breaths, Sara, she told herself. Ignoring the pungent smells of rotting and urine and damp that flooded in alongside the air.

Glancing back towards the doorway she considered Greg who was processing the bathroom across the hall, but she couldn't call out to him without causing more fear and she didn't want that.

Whoever needed her help here had suffered enough.

She slowed even further as she made enough space to crouch down beside the box.

Hearing her knees creak loudly in the strained silence.

The whimpering had stopped, but the box was lightly shuddering with the tension of something holding back its breath, something that didn't want to be found.

She knew that behaviour all too well.

It came back to her in dreams, full force and instinctive, dark, deep and lurking, awaking her with chills down her spine and cold sweat beading on her skin.

Just the thought made the air around her seem to grow colder.

But there was no time for that, she had to push through the discomfort now.

A calming swallow helped.

She propped her flashlight against her knee, allowing it to illuminate the surrounding area in a faint but un-intrusive glow.

Light enough to see into the box, to see the coiled bundle under the stained blue blanket.

There were curls of dark and matted hair, tiny fingers curled into fists, nails tight into the dirty fabric.

Those huge wide eyes were peeping up at her in terror, barely blinking.

Too afraid to cry, too young to know that pretending to sleep was better, that peeping was more dangerous than not.

There were no pictures of children on the walls, no toys, no small items of clothing.

This was the home of two known con men. The very same men found dead, with matching gunshot wounds in the backyard this morning.

Neither was known to be a father.

This child was not meant to be here.

"Hi," she whispered.

The child before her whimpered, a huge tear drop beading at the corner of one eye, dirty chin quivering.

"It's okay, you're going to be okay," she continued to whisper, keeping her tone easy and light, and very, very calm.

She worked to keep her expression caring, fighting against waves of nausea and fear, and more importantly anger.

Who would treat a child like this?

It sickened.

She had to do something, but she fumbled, there was no training for this, she had no experience in talking to a small child, could only imitate, only guess how to soothe and had no idea how to help a child in this kind of awful situation.

She wasn't even sure if this baby could understand her.

So she aimed to make her voice sound like those women in the offices who cooed over a new baby.

"I'm Sara," she told the little huddle before her, her forced smile making her voice echo strangely.

"Hey, Sara?"

Greg's unexpected voice sent a jolt through her, causing her to gasp and in an instant the tiny bundle before her had leapt into her arms, knocking the cardboard box over and was burying into her shirt.

She looked down dazed, feeling the tiny fingers clutching the fabric and the wet splashes of tears soaking into the cotton against her breasts, and felt burning tears fill her own eyes.

This little being was terrified, and had only her.

Her heart instantly took over, cradling the child to the shelter of her body.

She distantly heard Greg barking out orders for an EMT, immediately.

Brass's voice angry and was barking a report for the wire, the only words she heard clearly were 'missing' and 'child.'

Her awkward uncertain fingers had found their way to the child's back, and had taken up slowly rubbing in circles like she had seen other women do. She instinctively began to hum, the sound light and unkempt in a tuneless sort of way, but the baby in her arms quietened. It's trembles easing, becoming heavier against her chest as tired muscles relaxed.

As she continued to rub in circles, she began to rock. Somehow able to ignore the chaos building around her, the heavy feet of the Emergency medics, crunching through the debris towards her.

Madonna of the rubbish.

They lifted the child from her, her shirt riding dangerously high, as the little fingers fought not to let go.

Those huge haunted eyes watched her panicked over the shoulder of the Medic as they tried to carry the struggling baby outside to the rig.

Bigger than a baby she realised, now that she saw the child in perspective, a toddler.

Yet when she did not follow anguished cries rose up, little arms reaching for her.

She swallowed back the tears.

Greg helped her to her feet, his puppy dog expression as revealing about his thoughts as ever.

She couldn't speak; the lump in her throat was too big.

In the distance the child was still crying.

Greg gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, "I'll finish documenting, why don't you..."

He nodded in the direction of the others who had left.

And somehow she made her feet move.

The night air was good, a cool wave, fluttering her hair about her cheeks and clearing the smell of the crime scene from her nostrils. The rundown street was filled with the echoing blue and red flashes of officials, and several pyjama clad prying bystanders watched her with rubberneck curiosity gleaming.

Her eyes sought only the open doors at the back of the ambulance rig.

The cries were still strong.

She wavered; unsure she wanted to hear the horrors revealed as the child was examined.

But Brass was waving her over, harried expression on his face.

The cries faltered as she approached, the big blue eyes were back, red rimmed and pink cheeked, pining up at her.

"He seems to like you," the EMT told her, "could you," he lifted the child and she took him as more of a reaction than anything, instinctively easing him onto her hip, surprised that his sobbing calmed.

"He doesn't want us near him," the EMT's eyes were as sad as she knew her own to be.

"Was he...?" She just couldn't say the words, clutching the child closer to her body.

"No."

The breath she released was so loud and relieved that she glanced away embarrassed.

"We gave him a quick once over, there aren't any obvious signs." He reassured her with a world weary smile. "We'll take him in to be completely checked and cleaned up. It would be an easier ride if you could come with us?"

Her mouth opened to refuse, as she heard Grissom's voice in her head clearly stating that CSI's shouldn't get emotionally involved with cases.

But in her arms the little one settled himself in, a slow yawn distorting his features, before his breathing evened out and he slumped into exhausted sleep.

And even Brass's mocking 'awww look at Sara Sidle all mushy over a baby' look couldn't discourage her from helping this child feel safe.

"Could you tell Greg," she asked Brass, "and send someone to the hospital to process?"

He nodded, helping her into the back of the ambulance, giving her a cheeky flick of a wave as the vehicle pulled away from the scene, but there was a glimmer of something tenderer in his eyes.

Something unexpected which reminded her of why she respected her friend so much.

Then there was just the muted roar of the rig, the occasional bounce in the road and the snuffly sweet breathing of the boy.

Across the back of the rig the EMT was checking supplies, throwing her a glance every now and then.

"He'll be okay," he offered, his expression an admission of how lame he knew his words were. "He's young, they're resilient at that age."

She nodded, receiving a smile in response, neither knowing what else to say.

The rest of the journey was calm and quiet, as she couldn't help the thoughts flickering in her brain.

She had surprised herself.

She was never one to back down from a request, but usually she found some way to talk her way out of dealing with children. People assumed she was clueless about them, which looking down at the child sprawled against her, she could agree wholeheartedly.

But that didn't mean children didn't occasionally pull on her heartstrings. Or make her wonder about the path of her life.

She had never imagined herself as a mother, not even in the possible future kind of way, but as her fingers brushed a soft stray curl she felt that twinge, and knew that sensation must be the first yearning ebb of maternal instinct.

Could she be a mother? Suddenly, this close to a sleeping babe, it didn't seem the massive impossibility she had always assumed it would be, how anyone could struggle to feel affectionate towards such innocence?

But her cyclical thoughts always came right back to how someone could ever hurt or mistreat such a sweet child like this.

She continued to rub his back as she ruminated, the motion as soothing to her own soul as to the child's. The warm trusting weight against her reassuring. He was safe now. He was going to be okay. Her lips quirked, feeling him wriggle as she brushed a particularly ticklish spot.

She lowered her chin to rest against his warm curls, making the most of the quiet, knowing the chaos which would come.

He awoke, as the EMT threw open the rig doors, but as long as she stayed in his line of sight he didn't fuss too much. The sounds more of a pitiful whimper at being lightly poked and prodded.

The hospital was a neon glowing busy roaring rush, and she took a back seat as the nurses and doctors took charge.

To her continued relief they agreed with the EMT's examination, there was no harm, not even any bruises, he was dirty and tired, but not malnourished, there were food stains on his clothes. His little cheeks were chubby, little pot belly rounded.

A miracle, and also proof that he had not been missing long.

A young cop came and took photographs. Missing person shots. It was reassuring to know that this little face would be plastered over every TV network and internet site that would take it, all within a matter of minutes.

And then the waiting began, waiting for the CSI to show up, unable to clean the boy beyond checking for serious injury until he had been processed for evidence.

She had no doubt that all the evidence would lead straight back to the two DB's from the crime scene, but process was process.

It was strange to be on the other side, to be the one waiting and not the one coming to find the clues.

She just hoped they came quickly, for the child's comfort, and her own.

The little guy drifted in and out of sleep.

The first time he woke he cried out terrified, disoriented, confused, tangled in the blanket, awaking with a near shout of what sounded suspiciously like 'Mama' and she automatically reached for him, climbing up onto the bed, eventually curling up on top of the blanket beside him, listening to him whimper as he rubbed his nose against her.

Comforted by her presence even if she wasn't the person he really wanted.

The Cop came back and stood sentry at the door.

A nurse checked in on them, warm and familiar in personality, she brought a sippy cup of water and strong sweet coffee for her.

Both went down a treat.

When the door opened again, and her eyes lifted from the sleeping babe to greet her visitor, she was surprised to see Grissom.

She had expected Cath, or maybe Warrick, both of them having greater affinity with children than the rest of them put together.

But Grissom was unexpected.

They greeted one another with what had become their usual silent trepidation.

His voracious attention took in the child, lingered on the way she held the boy, her hand stroking the tiny fingers which grasped her shirt in reassurance. His scrutiny was painful; she wanted to pull herself away from his focus. Could feel her righteousness starting to burn up, ready to defend her actions.

After all she knew how Grissom felt about her getting too involved with victims. And what he was seeing right now was tantamount evidence, she was literally entangled with her case.

He had repeatedly made her feel that she should not show her emotions at work. He viewed it as weakness. Had told her in as many words that he thought she should not show such empathy for those she helped.

He had always worded it in such a way as to make it sound like he was acting in her best interests, but oftentimes it did not feel that way. It was in the way he said it, his words judgemental and insulting. Confusion there too, as if he couldn't understand why she didn't get that it was wrong, even though he had told her over and over.

Couldn't he see how hard this already was for her without him stepping into to complicate matters further?

At first she had wondered if it was just that he didn't understand how she could feel so strongly, was it because he didn't know how to feel, because he spent so long isolated, defensive, keeping his distance?

Yet, the hurt in his eyes the day she had told him that she wished she could be like him, she wished that she didn't feel anything...

That had nearly stopped her heart. The guilt she had felt afterwards still made her swallow uncomfortably.

And she had got it then.

It was so hard to feel. And maybe he was the one that envied her.

And he didn't want her to get hurt.

Even if he didn't choose the right way to go about it.

That pain she had glimpsed had given her hope, hope that he really did hide his emotions deep. That he had learnt to control them. But when did someone with so much control let those fears out? They had to go somewhere.

Eventually, after the silence stretched out to the point of severe discomfort, she carefully untangled herself, climbing off the little bed, rolling her shoulders, surprised at how tired she felt. Watching the child doze had lulled her half to sleep too, and she felt sluggish and woefully unprepared to fight with Grissom right now.

So she began talking, detailing all the information that she had gained from the scene, up to and including her little discovery. She started off so well, calm and CSIesque, but towards the end she fell into babbling self consciousness, as another wave of anger rose up at the thought that this tiny child had been stolen, most likely as part of some sick money making deception.

The more aware she became of it the harder it was to control that surging wave of angry heat, her nails dug hard into the palm of her hand, carefully hidden from his view.

She couldn't look at him by the time she finished.

"Why don't you go and get a cup of coffee?"

Her attention bolted to him as his words registered through her humiliation.

How dare he patronise her like that?

She bit down the anger; this kid would never allow Grissom near him if he sensed distrust or unease from her.

But the expression on his face was so very different from his words.

Those eyes of his pale blue and beseeching.

And most of the anger melted away under his gaze.

Damn, he really was 'concerned'. He was squinting at her in that way, like he was considering her anew.

And she did not know what to do with that.

"I should stay," she stammered, she could have sworn he looked nervous for a minute, but then he merely approached the bed, smiling at the tiny little one now peering up at him.

He looked even smaller when in comparison to the broadness of Grissom.

And she could do nothing but watch, surprised as Grissom smiled and sinking to crouch level with the boy, began to speak.

"Hi, I'm Gil," big eyes blinked, looking quickly in her direction for reassurance, and obviously finding it, his eyes returned to Grissom as he continued to speak, slowly and gently talking him through what he was doing, words flowing calmly and easily, as if the child knew exactly what he was saying and mesmerised by his motions there was no fuss.

Just cautious observation of one another as Grissom worked and the little boys gaze absorbed the sticky pads which collected trace and the little wooden sticks which cleaned up his nails.

He even consented to the hair combing with only one howl as the comb got stuck in a tangle, which as a fellow possessor of curls she knew was a mean feat.

And she watched on, trying not to gawp, she had never seen Grissom this way with a child. Gentle and pacifying, and funny too, he even got a smile.

The nurse came back with a miniature hospital gown, and carried the child into the small bathroom, leaving the door open so that he could still see Sara through the small gap.

There was plenty of splashing to be heard, and even a smattering of laughter.

"Sara?"

Grissom's voice was back to calm trepidation, drawing her attention from the bathroom chaos.

"You need to be processed too," he continued, indicating her stained t-shirt. "I brought you a change of clothes."

She blinked.

"Sara?"

Time passed.

"Right," she finally responded. Jumping in surprise at his next move.

He had placed the sticky trace pad against her stomach, her eyes shooting to his face as her breath caught, but he was looking down, focused, and all she saw was his faintly greying curls.

He was touching her. Touching her stomach. Her breath shivered.

She had always known that this was an invasion of privacy, and that wearing gloves didn't make the process any less intrusive, but she had never been processed before.

Her eyes slammed shut and she bit back a gasp as he pressed a pad directly over her left breast.

Her face was flaming; he must have been able to feel her heart thumping violently.

And he was watching her face now, not his hands, she could feel the scrutiny in his gaze, but she could not look at him, keeping her eyes demurely averted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

So close to her.

Sounding so sincere.

She wasn't able to reply.

And then it was over and he stepped out of her personal space, his face crimson too, letting her slide behind a curtained divide to change into the clothes he had brought, handing him her clothing to bag through a gap in the screen, and dressed again she was finally able to release her breath.

The nurse returned then, carrying the clean toddler, freshly diapered and wrapped up in the hospital gown.

Settling him down before a plate of food which made his ravenous little eyes light up.

Although he needed another bath about two minutes later. It was amazing where a kid that small could get food.

"Got a few words out of this one," the nurse reported, amused "bub bub, quack, looks like he's just starting to speak."

Grissom moved to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. Big eyes watched him, whilst continuing to munch on a carrot stick, still awed by the technical wizardry he had performed earlier. She understood that, Grissom at work had cast that kind of spell over her maybe a hundred times before.

"Hey, Buddy, can you tell us your name?"

Grissom's question was greeted with quiet, a wary glance from him to Sara and back again, clearly he knew from the tone that it was a question but didn't fully understand.

"Who's this?" Sara cut in, reaching out and tapping the little boy's chest with her fingertips.

Nothing.

"Okay, that's okay," she told him.

"Right, we're all done," Grissom announced to the nurse and to the child with a smile, tapping the little one on the head.

And in response the cutest, gap toothed smile since Sara's emerged.

"Sak."

The adults, glanced sharply at one another as the boy repeated himself.

"Sak."

The determined frown on his face was amusing as he tried frustratedly to communicate.

"Zack?" Sara asked him, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

The boy shook his curled head, "Sak." He reasserted.

"Isaac?" Grissom suggested with raised brow.

That got a nod, "Sak."

"That's your name? Your name is Isaac?" Sara had lowered herself to his level and was speaking to him directly, smiling at the breakthrough, he smiled back, and with a nod said "Sak," again and brought a palm to his chest as she had.

"Hi, Isaac," she was grinning now, "we should tell Brass," she continued, turning back to Grissom, before realising that he already had his phone to his ear, in complete disregard to hospital policy, she might add.

They could be reaching, or it could be his name, it must be so frustrating at this age to know what people meant and not be able to respond and make someone understand, but at this point any information was helpful information.

Grissom was just finished with his call when a different Doctor swept into the room

"Okay," The doctor spoke rapidly with a very false breezy, but really I'm no nonsense tone, "I'm just going to have one more look, Mommy and Daddy are right here."

Sara's eyes shot to Grissom's exactly the same horrified moment that his shot to hers, both with apologetic eyes and open mouths bobbing like fish as they tried to voice that in fact they weren't related to this child, weren't even officially in charge of this child.

But now that it had been mentioned Sara tried desperately to avoid the evidence, the big blue eyes, the dark curly hair, the smile.

It was an easy, but definitely an awkward mistake to make.

Great, as if all this wasn't weird enough.

And the little boys face had creased in confusion, he clearly knew that she and Grissom weren't his Mommy and Daddy, luckily he was too busy watching the Doctor as she checked his temperature to cry.

But the Doctor couldn't care less about her inaccuracy in familial relations, she was gone within a matter of minutes, after a short announcement that he looked physically well, he was responsive, rehydrated, and most importantly, calm and that meant he could go home.

The social worker arrived minutes later, armed with toddler sized clothes and a mountain of paperwork and a harassed smile.

As the nurse helped the little one into a t-shirt, overalls and the smallest pair of sneakers Sara had ever seen, the social worker began talking at a million words a minute. Brisk wasn't the word, but she was professional, explaining the process briefly, knowing that they mostly knew the deal already. Letting them know that as soon as the parents were located they could move forward with a psychological evaluation closer to home, just to be on the safe side.

Grissom's phone shattered the busy conversation.

Brass.

"That's great," Grissom was saying with a smile spreading.

She knew her eyes probably gave away how very hopeful she was.

Parents.

As soon as Grissom clicked his phone closed she was there with questions.

And the answers were all good.

Isaac James, aged 2. Missing for 28 hours. Taken from his stroller in a supermarket in Santa Fe, New Mexico. There was video tape of the abduction from the stores security camera. A screaming, frantic Mother. A mix up. The baby they had intended to kidnap had been in his stroller an aisle over. That child's mother owed the con men thousands of dollars. The wrong parents had received the ransom note. Which had lead them quickly to dumb and dumber from the earlier crime scene. Isaac's parents, Stephanie and Asa were already in the air on their way to Vegas.

Found.

She was so excited.

She wanted to hug Grissom, his expression mirrored hers.

But she refrained.

Instead she moved closer to Isaac, smiling like a crazy cat, amused to see the little boy mirror her smile as if he was in on her great big wonderful secret.

The woman from social services escorted Sara and Isaac to the Police Station, her car had child facilities. Grissom followed in the company issue Denali.

Isaac watched the fairytale stream of neon casino lights from his lofty car seat perch in awe. Babbling to himself in nonsensical sounds which seemed to mean lots to him and little to the rest of the world.

Sara sat beside him finding herself enjoying watching his innocent delight at the City she had very quickly become immune too. Just a couple of minutes journey like this and the child was already able to show her the world anew. She felt she was examining her world from the building blocks up once again.

If you didn't know the horrors hidden by the garish lights you probably could appreciate the show without distaste, she thought tilting her gaze in consideration.

To be that naive again.

Something precious that could not be reclaimed.

Isaac refused to let the social worker carry him into the police station, stiffening under her touch until with an apologetic glance in Sara's direction, she stepped back and allowed the CSI to ease him from the car and carry him.

There was press by the door, TV news camera's, flashlight bulbs bursting.

Great.

The press was bad enough on a normal case, a missing baby being found was like nirvana to them.

She was carrying a baby, the guys will love that when they see it, this was certainly going to turn some heads at the Lab, but she forced her own head high, and stalked quickly to the building.

It was busy, packed to the rafters with criminals and noise and chaos.

Frightened by all the noise, those big fearful eyes were back, lower lip quivering until he buried his face in Sara's shoulder to hide completely. She lowered her head to protect him as well as she could, whilst Grissom arrived just in time to fend off the questions, with rapid fire responses, his expression the usual 'I hate having to face the media' grim line.

This was no place for a child.

She moved on autopilot, far too aware and in equal measures unsure what to make of the shooting pangs of maternal longing which seemed to make themselves known again as she rubbed her cheek comfortingly against the child's peach soft counterpart. Who knew, maybe she did have a biological clock after all.

After ten agonising minutes in the waiting room Brass appeared as if answering her prayers and ushered them into the relative quiet of his office.

Which was better.

She put Isaac on the floor to play, contorting her long legs in order to sit beside him, and he looked around for about thirty seconds before he was off, on his feet and toddling towards the nearest breakable item he could reach.

It was impressive how he knew exactly what he wasn't supposed to touch and found it without even trying.

Plenty of inquisitive searching went on, causing Sara to wonder if he would grow up to be a good CSI. He clambered onto a chair, pressing his nose against the glass to view the outside world roaring by from a safe distance.

Then he was off again, crawling under Brass's table, grinning madly when she tried to capture him.

The child had the concentration span of a goldfish.

Kept her on her toes, but all that mattered was the difference in him.

Night and day from the little boy she had found in the box just hours before.

Grissom had disappeared with Brass, but when he returned a time later it was to the sweet giggles of a happy child, the kind that shimmer in the air and sweeten any mood.

Grissom brought food, which enhanced her mood even further, veggie burger and fries, he remembered, and a healthier option for Issac, a sandwich cut into smaller pieces, clearly by Grissom, which was too cute. The kid tucked in, starving, even though he had cleared away all the food he'd been given at the hospital too. She ended up sneaking the child fries when Griss wasn't looking, enjoying the cheeky thank you grins and happy head bobs as he munched away.

The big news was that the parent's flight was due in less than an hour, and a police escort was already waiting to collect them at McCarren, ready to bring them back to the station for a more private reunion.

The hospital had let Issac keep the sippy cup and she hid her own smile at Grissom's amusement at the cartoon bugs which paraded around the base as he had taken it to refill.

Back with the drinks Griss carefully picked up the other box he had brought with him. Eyeing the floor warily he eventually chose to sit on the desk chair, spinning it so he faced Isaac.

"Griss..." her voice was deliberately stern. "What's in the box?"

She knew from his grin.

She also knew that there was no way on earth she would touch anything in that box.

It was too small for it to be a spider, for which she was very thankful, but she was even more relived when he withdrew a smaller terrarium, inside which there was nothing but twigs and leaves.

Oh wait, twigs that moved!

Stick-bugs!

Phasmatodea, the Latin was correctly pronounced in Grissom's voice in her head, and by the looks of it there were at least two of the creatures in that box.

She was cautious, touched that he had thought to bring something to entertain the child, but what happened to crayons, to DVD's with hyper voiced presenters? She wasn't too sure how this would go.

She pulled another chair up opposite, scooped Isaac up onto her knee so he was closer to Grissom. Safely in her arms he leant closer to the box, and she felt calmer now able to relax once she knew it was a nice beastie and that he wasn't terrifying the kid to death with Stevie the tarantula.

And then one stick bug was liberated from its habitat.

Grissom's gentle giant hands placing it onto his broad arm, letting it work its way towards his shoulder.

Man, Brass would kill him if these things got loose in his office!

"Looook!"

Isaac's little voice, so filled with awe, forming the word clearly.

Excitedly wiggling on her knee. Leaning closer, braver than she expected.

Turning to look at her in delight before returning to take in this new discovery.

And Grissom was beaming, nudging the creature back down his arm with a shrug of his shoulder as it reached his collar and started reaching out legs to tickle his beard.

A man in his element.

"Give me your hand, Sara."

She froze, she did not want to touch one of those things, she wasn't afraid mind, she was just painfully clumsy and those bugs were so skinny legged, delicate and vulnerable.

"Come on," he urged, reaching out and capturing her hand in the heat of his, curling it palm up and then guiding Isaac's palm into hers.

She wavered at that, glancing quickly up at him to see his reaction to the three hands together like that. Supporting one another. United like that.

But he was just smiling at Isaac, and asking, "Ready?"

He steadied them and then urged the creature onto their outstretched palms.

It really was an amazingly structured being and she focused hard on it. Not on the way that Grissom's thumb was gently stroking the back of her hand.

Did he know he was doing that? Did he mean too?

On their hands the bug hovered, wary, still, until reassured they wouldn't drop him and then it began to take steps towards Sara's wrist.

It tickled, the tingly sensation adding to the ones Grissom was already stirring, sending them rumbling right up her arm.

And on her knee Isaac squealed delighted.

Her smiling thankful gaze met Grissom's, and held.

Whilst unbeknown to Sara and Grissom outside Brass's office several figures also enjoyed the moment, shocked into disbelieving laughter by the sight of their colleagues entertaining a child.

A curly dark haired, blue eyed, bug loving child.

They made quite the picture.

Catherine, Greg, Warrick and Nick had come down to in hopes of catching the reunion, small victories like this were rare events, and definitely worth celebrating.

"If only I had a camera," Catherine murmured, her head swaying.

Greg was rummaging in his jeans for his phone, coming up waving it, but Nick gave the technology one look, "Do you want Sara to kill you?"

Outside the building the roar of the press raged again turning their attention to the entrance, causing Sara and Grissom to look up, and take a minute to collect themselves. Grissom recaptured the bug, carefully returned the insect to its home.

The halls of PD grew quiet as everyone waited.

Isaac was frowning, his lower lip starting to protrude, upset that his new play thing had been put away.

Nervous excitement practically fizzled in the air, replacing the usual anger and fear and regulation that permeated the place.

Then the noise grew louder as the doors opened and Brass escorted two frantic, frazzled and harassed looking parents into the shelter of PD.

And everything happened very quickly after that.

Stephanie and Asa James only had eyes for their son, and Isaac's wonderful cry at the sight of them melted the hearts of even the hardest of criminals.

The weight in Sara's arms was gone, was safely back in the embrace of his family, smothered in kisses and whispers of love.

His mother was smiling through her tears. His father shaking Sara's hand in thanks before dragging her into a very unexpected hug, unable to contain his joy.

She was grinning too, irrepressibly happy. And thankful. Elated.

There just weren't words.

Isaac's happy ending.

As others poured in to offer their kind words and thoughts, Sara took a step back, finding Grissom standing on the periphery too. Keeping out of the spotlight.

There were happy tears in her eyes; she kept having to blink them away.

He stepped closer, his shoulder sliding behind hers, and instinctively she relaxed back into the warmth of his body.

Unnoticed by the rest of the world.

So touched by his calm, very private offering of support that she very nearly started to cry.

After another few minutes the family were ready to go, off to a quick thank you press conference, and then they were booked into a hotel for the evening, until their flight home tomorrow.

"We can't thank you enough, Sara," Stephanie James earnest words were unnecessary, but kind.

She shook their outstretched hands.

"Say goodbye to Sara, Isaac," his Dad prompted, ruffling his son's curls.

Suddenly shy Isaac peeped up at Sara from the shelter of his mother's arms, smile coy.

With her own smile both sweet and sad, Sara lifted her fingertips and lightly brushed Isaac's soft curls murmuring her goodbyes.

Aware of Grissom watching her, but feeling nothing but understanding in his gaze.

And then they were really leaving, Isaac looking back over his mothers shoulder.

She somehow managed to keep her smile wide, even when little fingers raised in a wave.

Her own hand rising, fingers spread to return it, before tucking back into a tight fist which she unconsciously pressed to her heart.

Grissom's hand was against her lower back. Warmth sinking into her skin. There for her. And she needed it.

Then she had to look away as the sob welled, swallowing it down hard.

The breath she took, shuddery and uneven.

And then all her friends were around her, giving her playful nudges about her tears, smiles wide and teasing and affectionate.

Greg's hug quick and sweet. Nick's kiss to her hair, Catherine's reassuring laughter, even Warrick's muttered, 'I never thought I'd see the day'. She had to laugh at that, giving him a shove.

And throughout she felt his eyes on her, he had taken a step back as the others approached and was watching from afar.

Didn't he realise it was him she wanted to share this happiness with the most?

He always let others take the lead where emotions were concerned.

Yet when she risked a glance at him he was smiling.

Observing from the outside.

"Who's for breakfast?" She asked, trying to bring him closer, her eyes searching his for an acceptance of her offer. "I'm buying?" she tempted further as she tried to distract attention, from her tears, from her confused tangle of happiness and sadness, from her all together.

The others were chiming in with their agreement; it was only Grissom who had yet to answer.

She raised her eyebrows at him over Nick's shoulder.

For a minute he looked conflicted, forever socially awkward, then his lips curved up, and he nodded in his own special way. Eyes crinkling at her, and her morning was complete.

Breakfast was good, she didn't eat much, exhaustion playing along every muscle, making her too lazy to do anything but sit back and watch as her friends laughed and teased one another around her.

Even Grissom, sat close by her side, enjoyed himself, the light in his eyes was a delight to see.

And eventually every one slunk off, ready to crawl into their beds and sleep another day away.

She, Grissom, Nick and Catherine walked the short distance back to the Lab.

And for a while she took her time, writing up reports, overtired, but at that stage where you became too wired to sleep.

Grissom passed, looking just as tired as she felt, he paused a moment in the Lab doorway, before quietly wishing her goodbye, and then more forcefully reminding her that she should go home too.

She nodded, "I'll see you tonight," she assured, already starting to collect together her papers.

He hovered a little longer, looking like he had something else to say, but as if words had failed him as usual, he eventually gave her another curious smile and then in the blink of an eye he was gone.

She took one last stop at her locker to get her sunglasses and coat.

As the creaky metal door came open a small white piece of card fluttered to the ground at her feet.

Confused she stooped to pick it up, keeping one hand on the locker door to avoid hitting her head, yet as she read the message and the letters formed words and became meaning in her brain, she was left wondering if she had indeed knocked herself into some kind of dream world.

For neatly inscribed, in real ink, was the sentiment.

'_**When words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain.**__' William Shakespeare._

_I was proud of you today._

Instead of a signature the small card was signed with a perfectly drawn, elegantly detailed, miniature stick bug.

She looked around, surprised, touched, warmed by his words and huffed a gentle breath.


End file.
